


marital bliss

by lille082



Series: 007 Fest 2020 | Agent 0018 [7]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: 007 Fest 2020, Fill: Fake marriage, Fill: There was only one (1) bed, Gen, M/M, MI6 Cafe Prompt Table, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Team 00
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lille082/pseuds/lille082
Summary: Overseeing Bond in the field leaves Q exasperated, exhausted, and downright irascible.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: 007 Fest 2020 | Agent 0018 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875979
Comments: 4
Kudos: 96
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	marital bliss

**Author's Note:**

> This fic fulfilled the squares "Fake marriage" and "There was only one bed" on the Trope Prompt Table (004) by [mi6-cafe](https://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com). While this was written in a last-minute effort to finish the prompt table before midnight on July 31st, I'm pretty sure this is going to be fleshed out into a full fic in the future.

“…So you see, I’ve royally mucked things up and I’m afraid he’s going to think our whole honeymoon is ruined if I can’t turn things around.”

The proprietor of the bed and breakfast peered closely at Bond over her spectacles before she broke into a sympathetic smile. He had a feeling the Armani suit played into her decision, despite how much rainwater it was holding currently.

“Oh, he won’t hold it against ya,” she rounded the reception desk and flipped open an appointment book, her finger tracking over the page until she found what she was looking for. “Just what I thought, our honeymoon suite’s booked through Thursday, sorry to say, but I have a cozy little room with a fireplace available if that’ll do.”

Bond played up his relief, heaving out a sigh and an amazed grin.

“Oh, we’ll take what we can get! Thank you so much,” he reached out to shake her hand, taking it warmly in his. The older women blushed and gave him a knowing look. “If we need to pay a late booking fee or anything, that’s no problem.”

She waved her hand dismissively at him and tucked a strand of grey hair behind her ear.

“Oh, nonsense. I’m just glad we had an open room for ya. Why don’t you go fetch that fella of yours and I’ll get everything sorted out here, Mr.–”

“Bond,” he gave her his most charming smile, leaning against the counter. “James Bond.”

“Well, nice ta meet ya, Mr. Bond. I’m Helen. Here, take this–” she rummaged under the counter for a moment before handing him an umbrella. “You don’t need to get any more soaked than you already are.”

Bond accepted the umbrella gratefully and headed back out into the storm.

-

Sure, Q had seen the door open and Bond amble out with an umbrella. And sure, he figured that meant they had lodgings for the night, thankfully. And sure, maybe it was childish, but he couldn’t help wanting to make him suffer just a little bit more.

Bond approached the passenger door and pulled on the handle to open it for Q, but the door didn’t budge. Q glanced up from his phone with a bored look on his face and looked at Bond through the glass. Bond rapped on the window, staring at him expectantly, and Q unlocked the car with a sigh.

“Yes?” His waspish tone was sharp over the sound of rain on the roof of the car.

Bond kept his answer just as short.

“C’mon, we’ve got a room.”

Q took the umbrella from Bond without a word, slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and tightened his grip on the prototype case, leaving the rest of their luggage (or what little remained of it) to him.

He didn’t wait for Bond before setting off for the dry indoors.

-

Q entered the small lobby area and closed the umbrella on the threshold, shaking it off under the eaves before turning his attention inside.

“And you must be the other Mr. Bond!” A sweet, very midwestern American accent rang out and Q turned to stare at her in shock for just a moment before nodding slowly.

“I suppose I must be,” he grinned, now kicking himself that he didn’t brief with Bond before coming in because clearly he’d already gotten to talking with the older woman behind the desk.

“I know, it’s hard to get used to it at first, but you will. Get used to having a new name that is,” she said and held out her hand. “I’m Helen.”

Q stepped forward to shake it when the door opened behind him.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Helen said, holding his hand between her’s, tutting. “Your new husband is absolutely frozen, Mr. Bond.”

“James, please,” Bond said, setting the suitcase down next to Q, who slowly pulled his hand away from Helen. “To be fair, he’s always cold. Lounging around the flat in jumpers in the middle of the summer. But I’ve always run hot, so we balance each other out.”

Q felt Bond’s arm wind around his waist and it took every ounce of his energy not to elbow James in the stomach. He relaxed into the embrace, following his lead.

“Well, I had Roger head on up to the room to start a fire for you,” she said, grabbing a honest-to-god brass key from a pigeon hole behind the desk. Q tried not to look completely horrified at the complete lack of modern innovation or security in the setup.

Helen led them up a narrow stairway and down a short hall before reaching an ajar door.

“Again, sorry we don’t have that honeymoon suite available, but I hope this’ll do,” she said as she pushed the door open and led them in. A man in overalls was throwing another log on the fire and Bond set their luggage down off to the side. He hooked his chin over Q’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around him from behind.

“Really, Helen, it’s perfect. Besides, it doesn’t matter where we sleep, as long as we’re with each other.”

Q saw the woman put her hand over her heart at the sentiment and had to close his eyes to cover up him rolling them. He felt the warm press of lips along his jaw and an involuntary shiver ran through him.

“Oh, we should leave ya alone to warm up,” Helen said, nodding at Roger who got to his feet. “If ya boys need anything, just give us a ring downstairs. There should be enough towels and blankets, but let us know, and we’ll bring more up in a jiffy!” 

Roger guided Helen out of the room with a hand on her elbow and Bond broke their embrace to quickly lock the door behind them.

“What the fuck, Bond?” Q hissed, stepping into Bond’s path as the agent loosened his tie and shrugged out of his soaked suit jacket. “This is your plan? Hide in the middle of fucking nowhere Missouri and hope they didn’t follow us?”

Bond ignored Q in favor of unbuttoning his shirt.

“Also: our honeymoon? That’s the best you could come up with? What are we supposed to do with this?” Q gestured exaggeratedly at the single bed in the room.

Q received a raised eyebrow as his only response before Bond dropped trou.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Q turned around and marched towards the luggage that was piled in the corner. He rifled through his go bag until he heard the bathroom door shut. Stripping his wet socks from his feet, he threw them in a pile on top of Bond’s jacket with relish. 

He shrugged off his coat and made quick work of changing out of his wet clothes into dry ones. He eventually settled himself in front of the fireplace, leaning against the bed, and donned the warmest pair of socks he’d brought with him. As he stared at the fire and listened to the sound of the shower running, his mind immediately reminded him of the electric charge feel of Bond’s fingers pressed against his stomach, the rasp of stubble against his cheek, and the eyeful he’d been graciously granted moments before.

He dropped his head back against the foot of the bed with a groan, conceding there was no way he’d sleep tonight.


End file.
